


Wait, what?

by TranquilStars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fights, Jealousy, Kinda, Student Council, but really it's tension (tm), they kinda hate eachother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 15:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TranquilStars/pseuds/TranquilStars
Summary: Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin want the same thing--Student Body President. Unfortunately, they're both amazing candidates, and thanks to the Council Director Marcus Kane, they're now Student Body Presidenttogether.They can't stand each other, but they'll end up figuring it out. What's worse than planning school events with your worst enemy? (With both of them just wanting to shamelessly kiss each other, to make it worse.)(Wait, what?)





	1. enemies don't (we can't)

**Author's Note:**

> so this isn't really plot-based at all, i mostly wrote it to blow off steam so events are kind of just jumped into rather than built up to  
> then it got really long and I really liked how it turned out most of the time so I decided to post it? i dunno

Blinding, spewing rage was all that she could feel. She felt it rising in her chest and materialized at her collarbone, like sickly green vomit. She felt it grasping at the walls of her stomach, _clawing_ , _scraping_ , begging for escape. She felt like she’d explode if she waited any longer to get it out—and by get it out, she means to let it climb all the way up her throat and spasm from her body.

Her vision is stained red like cherry jello as she grips Lexa Woods—her Student Body President opponent—by her stupid, _expensive_ , wool cuff collar.

“Why the _fuck_ would you do that?” she asked, fingernails digging crescent moons into the girl’s shirt.

Lexa raised a proper, trimmed brown eyebrow. “What? Expose you for having sex with Finn Collins, resident fuckboy?”

_It was one time_ , Clarke thought desperately. She had wanted to feel something other than the dull beating of her heart. It was around the time that her mom was working all week, nonstop, without talking to her much. Of course, the only thing she could do about it was to text Finn and ask him if he was down for a no-strings quickie at his house.

Lexa waited for an answer, but when she didn’t get one, she slowly peeled Clarke’s red, strong fingers from her cuff collar. After three even adjustments, she clears her throat, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have campaigning.”

* * *

 

Clarke somehow wins the election, and she’s congratulated by teachers who once scorned her and shook their heads at her for having underage sex. Mrs. Locklin, a conservative old woman who had threatened to remove Clarke from her class, shook her hand and smiled brightly with her ten teeth. Lexa just watches in horror, eyes wide in horror and shock. Her feet stay glued to the stage even after the students have crawled out of the auditorium and back to their fifth period.

The disgusting, navy blue runner up ribbon is still draped sadly across her shoulder, and it’s pretty, sure. However, Clarke’s crimson ribbon with sparkling letters that say ‘Student Body President” down the side is a lot prettier. Finally, they’re the only ones left on the stage, and Clarke turns to her with a smug smile.

“Just a note,” she starts, “Students thought it was cool that I had underage sex. It made me relatable. And, for the teachers, all I had to do was tell them that I’m starting a new chapter in my life where I try harder and travel on a path of morality and righteousness.”

Lexa ground her teeth together. “But you’re _not_.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow to tell her to continue.

“It’s lying, Clarke. I was honorable about my practices and would have held up to every promise I made.”

The blonde snorted indignantly, “What’s honorable about stalking outside Finn’s house until you could snap pictures of me coming out with sex hair?”

“It was a lapse of judgement.”

* * *

 

If looks could kill, Lexa would be five hundred feet down in the dirt, decapitated and missing all her limbs. Seriously.

“That’s why, Mr. Kane, I feel like I would be a much better candidate than Miss Griffin.”

Maybe that line was a _bit_ too far, because Clarke’s eyebrows only lowered and her twitching eye got more rapid and noticeable.

“With all due respect—” Clarke intervened, throwing her arm to the side and pressing it against Lexa’s collarbone to prevent her from moving.

“Miss Griffin,” Marcus Kane, the director of the student council, only gave her a look. “Be courteous to those who oppose you.”

Lexa _almost_ snorted indignantly, but she held her tongue as Kane turned back to her and listened to her well-put-together, memorized essay about why she was a better student councilwoman than Clarke. How Clarke won thanks to unfair bias from the students and a rebellious phase of the voters.

(She was sort of distracted because Clarke didn’t move her forearm from her collarbone, frozen in shock from Kane’s dismissal.)

Once Lexa had concluded her speech with concise vocals and loud, clear enunciation of her conclusion, Kane turned to Clarke to ask her to speak. Clarke, noticing her arm was still pressed against her opponent’s chest, dropped it quickly and shuffled away from Lexa’s side. Clarke didn’t have a speech or a five minute defensive essay to combat what the girl had just said. She didn’t even have the heart to disagree with most of her points.

Yes, Clarke sometimes favored her friends and spared them on punishments. They’d gotten her through a shitload. Yes, she was inappropriate at times, but wasn’t everyone? (Aside from prim-proper Lexa. She doesn’t count.) _Yes_ , she’d had sex with Finn despite their school’s strict non-sexual foundation. And _yes_ , she failed ninth grade geometry _once_. Her dad had died and her teacher was Ms. Cartwig, a family friend of her dad’s that didn’t even come to his funeral. She wanted to tear out Lexa’s throat for bringing it up—her petty quarrel with Ms. Cartwig was only because she needed someone to blame, someone to shoulder all the pain. Her mother had already taken most of it.

Instead, she raised her chin and looked pointedly at her opponent, “It’s true, I’ve done some bad things in my time at this school. However, I took summer school during sophomore year to make up that failed Geometry course. Yes, I did have sexual relations with a boy,” she hated how formal it sounded, but pushed through. “But I’ve ended it. I’ve also taken on a path of morality and self-righteousness, and I hope I never fall down that hole again. I’ve worked hard to rebuild myself, and I deserve a spot here as much as anyone.”

Lexa ground her teeth together at her ‘path of morality’ bullshit. However, nobody but her knew that it was a fake load of crap, so she had no substantial evidence to claim it was. Mr. Kane nodded and clasped her shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, Clarke. I also admire Lexa’s wit and charm to come here and deliver her thoughts.” he declared, now holding Lexa’s shoulder as well, with his free hand. This pushed them together automatically, despite how they repelled like the same side of two magnets.

Clarke and Lexa glared at each other for a good four minutes before Kane spoke again, gathering their attentions to his bearded, kind face and warm eyes. “I’ve decided, you'll _both_ be Student Body President.”

(Hell broke loose.)

“ _Mister Kane_ ,” Lexa tried breathily, while Clarke paced beside the wall phone, nails digging into her forehead. “Please reconsider. We—”

“You will make the decisions together, come to meetings together—you are both excellent leaders and I believe this…” he glanced between them, catching the fiery gaze they sent each other. “ _rivalry..._ you have will aid you both in compromising for what is best.”

“How does that make _any_ sense?” Clarke spat, heavily peeved. She’d be better off forfeiting her position rather than getting along with Lexa.

“Negative ten plus a positive ten make zero, the most neutral number.” he answered, clasping his hands behind his back and stalking back to his office.

After he was gone, the two girls spent their next class period glaring at each other with disdain and horror set in their eyes.

* * *

 

“I know that this is far less than ideal,” Lexa began, neatly scribing her name on the top of the request form Kane had given her. “But we must persevere.”

Clarke glared at her like she was the anti-christ, like the glass of bubbly water she held was holy water and all she wanted to do was splash it on Lexa and melt her like the witch she was. (Maybe she’s combining her stories.)

“ _Less than ideal_? Try, a disaster!” the blonde exclaimed, smacking both palms face-down on the table.

“You’re dramatic, Clarke. We both get what we want with this arrangement.”

“I’d rather quit Student Body President rather than do it with you!”

“Then _do_.”

Clarke glared at Lexa, and Lexa glared at Clarke, their gazes like mixing hot lava and arctic ice. Heat and electricity cracked and bowed beneath the raw energy in the room, but neither of them seemed to notice.

“Well, _now_ I’m not gonna quit because you told me to.”

“You’re a child.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Clarke snickered, pushing her tongue past her tightly-pressed lips, not acknowledging the _genuine_ childish behavior.

Lexa didn't reply back, knowing that it would do no good. Instead, she said, “ _Anyways_ , Kane gave us a list of student requests that were sent in. We have to either approve or deny each one, and give a response as to why. Any decisions we feel should be made by the school board, we mark with an ‘S.’”

“I was there, Lexa, I know.” Clarke shot, and Lexa tried not to make a witty comment back. (In fact, she was trying to be the bigger person, but it’s so hard to be bigger when it’s _Clarke_ , and all she wants to do is prove that she’s better… and maybe push her to the nearest table and _show_ her why she’s better.)

(Wait, what?)

Lexa cleared her throat, “Kids are fed up with the current school schedule. They want longer passing periods to get to their classes. Thoughts?”

Clarke leaned over Lexa’s shoulder to read the request, chest pressed against her shoulder blades. Lexa’s breath hitched, and Clarke rolled her eyes. (She thinks it’s because Lexa hates her presence, but really it’s quite different.)

“Easy. That’s a school board choice.” Clarke absently flicked her hand to the side, causing a slight burst of wind to ruffle a strand of hair over Lexa’s part. She fixed it (she made it worse) while she opposed Clarke’s idea.

“No way. How do we trust that the school board will make choices in the students’ best interests?’ she asked, trying to fix the loosened hair again. She brushed it back to normalcy, but another strand had fallen over the top now.

“We just have to hope,” the blonde quirked an eyebrow, trying not to be distracted by the messy hairs on top of the brunette’s head. “Even if we were to try and make a case for this, we’d end up bringing it to the school board either way.”

“Yeah, precisely. At least we’d give it a starting point and points made from the students, rather than fifty-year-old white men in suits.” Lexa shot back, nostrils flared as if she _dared_ Clarke to say something back.

Clarke breathed in. Lexa was right, but how effective would their methods actually be? Yes, the Student Presidents (Clarke despised that she had to pluralize it now.) decided small problems like punishments for brawling students and organized Prom and Homecoming… but this big of a suggestion just wasn’t their call to make.

Meanwhile, Lexa had basically screwed up her part so much that five different stands curled over the line that parted her hair and shot up like there was invisible hair gel in each different line of hair. She was still fiddling with it when Clarke tried to explain her reasoning, why it was pointless to try and dispute something as big as this.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Clarke paused her wild hand gestures and reached over to her co-student president’s head. She carefully dragged a nail down the line of her part and flipped the strands to their respectful sides. (Lexa shuddered at the feel of Clarke’s nails on her scalp, but said nothing.) Giving the sides of the hair one last puff, like you would for a hotel pillow, she sat down and tried to pretend like it didn’t happen.

Lexa did the same.

“Uhm… I guess… We’ll fill this out.” the blonde continued, the cords in her neck faltering from visible to invisible.

Neither of them mention how Clarke’s argument quickly fell away.

* * *

 

They end up marching into the Board Meeting with their carefully-thought-out reasonings for longer passing periods between classes. (Well, it was more like Lexa proudly strode in with her cute glasses, long fishtail braid, and tight-button-up shirt while Clarke measly followed behind in her blue gym shorts and white, ripped-hem t-shirt.) Lexa made compelling arguments, while Clarke offered charm and student prospective when she could. There’s lots of debate, but most of the adults have no interest in arguing with high schoolers. They protest the idea that school will be longer, burdening parents who pick up their kids, and Lexa freezes for a second.

Swiftly, Clarke steps in to say, “There are extra minutes during lunch and first period that can be sacrificed. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but… it’ll help I think.”

They _actually_ end up making passing periods longer, and Clarke’s so shell-shocked that her hand goes limp in Kane’s supportive handshake. Luckily, Lexa slides in and gives him a strong shake that leaves him forgetting about Clarke’s.

The high and realization comes back a few minutes later, and she springs in Lexa’s arms in the hallways after the entire school announcement. Principal Jaha sounds unamused at the announcement he has to deliver, but does it anyways. It takes a minute for the brunette to comprehend it, but when she does, she tentatively pats Clarke on the back and groans jokingly at the contact. (Really, she wants to have more wins as the co-president so that Clarke hugs her more often. Maybe if they had a great enough win, Clarke would kiss her.)

(Wait, what?)

* * *

 

The next time they _truly_ speak is in Mr. Pike’s AP Biology class, when they’re forced to sit directly next to each other due to the seating chart. Ripples of, “Ooh, the presidents are right next to each other!” and “But, like, they hate each other.” filled the room when Pike overlayed their names. Pike quieted them, obviously, but the two presidents truly felt the tension in the room when they sat next to each other. (They’re the student body presidents, but that doesn’t mean they actually have to speak. Usually, when conversing, they settle for short, up to ten word texts. _“U up for assembly 4th period?” “Yes.” “Kk.”_ )

Their rivalry isn’t hidden or shadowed at all. In fact, it was pretty obvious when Lexa and Clarke sat two tables away from each other during lunch on accident and glared at each other the whole time. Ever since then, the school has been ripe with rumors that they’ll kill each other or kiss each other. (Clarke would prefer the latter.) (Wait, what?)

Clarke expects Lexa to completely ignore her and avoid her gaze, but she’s gratefully surprised when Lexa’s eyes light up and she slides her seat closer to the blonde’s. Clarke’s even more shocked when Lexa places a hand over her shoulder and _smiles_ like it’s the last day she’s going to be happy.

“What sort of drugs are you on?”

Lexa grins and then fake-pouts, “Drugs? Awh, Clarkey, We’re the presidents. We can’t be taking drugs.”

Clarke’s noticed that she’s also let her winding braid down, which she has _never_ done in public. (Seriously, what drugs is she on?)

Lexa must have noticed that Clarke’s eyes keep flitting to her suspiciously, like she had a knife drawn underneath her sweater, (Which has also replaced the tight button-ups, Clarke notices.) because she sticks out her tongue and smiles.

At the end of the period, Clarke watches Lexa gather her stuff happily and asks, “Seriously. What are you on? I want some.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, slinging a strap of her bag over her shoulder and turns away. “You wanna know?” As the brunette’s in the doorway, Clarke nods feverishly. Lexa spins around and smiles so wide Clarke thinks her cheeks might rip.

“I’m in _love_!”

* * *

 

_I’m not upset. I’m not upset. I’m not upset._ Clarke stomped up the stairs to her porch, hoping that if she said the mantra enough, it’d come true.

Because she wasn’t; she wasn’t upset that Lexa was bright and smiley because she’d found her one true love. She wasn’t upset that Finn had never made her smile like that; and she’d never made him either. Clarke wasn’t upset that even _she_ couldn’t even get Lexa to smile like that. (Wait, what?)

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket, three times evenly.

 

> **Lexa W. [4:06 PM] Claaaaaarke**
> 
> **can you come to the capitol building? I’m organizing something!!!!**
> 
> **  
> ** **Lexa W. [4:07 PM] it’s super important! promise!**
> 
>  

Clarke quirked an eyebrow, pausing outside her door to lean against it instead of going inside. The insects of late August buzzed around her face, but she was too busy inspecting the texts to swat them away. Lexa _never_ spoke without proper grammar—and she certainly never spelled her name with six a’s.

 

**Clarke G. [4:08 PM] 3 texts in a row????? that must be a record for u,,, what do u need help w?**

 

**Lexa W. [4:10 PM] nope, it’s a surprise! but can you?**

 

**Clarke G. [4:11 PM] uhm. it’ll take me some time but yes i can be there**

**is this for school?**

 

**Lexa W. [4:13 PM] i told you it’s a surprise!**

 

Clarke was thoroughly concerned, but she couldn’t fight the bubbling of happiness inside her stomach because of the fact that Lexa asked _her_ to help, not whoever she was in love with. Before even _entering_ her house, she turned around and began to walk to the capitol. (After all, Lexa needed her, right?)

* * *

 

The walk to Polis was sort of a struggle, considering Clarke was a little bit out of shape and a still little bit sore from gym class a few hours ago. (And it was half a mile away, but Clarke hadn’t even thought of asking for a ride,) However, the sight of giddy Lexa right outside the doors made the grueling walk worth it. She grinned at Clarke’s approaching form and shoved a banner in her arms, eyes sparkling like the stars were U-hauled right into them. Clarke scrunched her nose and pulled her arms away from her body to look at what it said.

(Her heart dropped when she read what was on it.)

In pretty, floral script read, “ _Be my girlfriend, Costia?_ ” and Clarke pretended to smile wide. She told herself that it was because Costia was basically Finn, but female, and she didn’t want Lexa to get hurt. (But who was she to judge? Who was she to tell Lexa to shove it and put away the banner before she hurt herself? Lexa’s _happier_ now. Maybe Costia really does love her.)

“You like it?” the brunette asked, eyes wide and inviting. (Clarke wanted to tell her that she didn’t like it, out of spite, but she didn’t.)

The blonde gave her co-president a tight smile, pretending to make it reach her eyes. She nodded multiple times, giving her a thumbs-up. Lexa noticed her dilemma and frowned, pulling the light pink banner away.

“You don’t like it.” She said accusingly, and Clarke immediately missed the happy-go-lucky Lexa.

“No, Lexa, I love it. It’s just—” she paused, and the brunette eagerly awaited her answer, lips pouty. Clarke wanted to kiss the pout away. (Wait, what?) “Costia… Uhm…”

Lexa flared her nostrils in the same way she had dared Clarke to oppose her idea of longer passing periods, and Clarke didn’t dare it this time. “It’s great, Lexa.”

* * *

 

Her co-president insisted on walking all the way up to Costia’s mother’s floor, holding the bright pink banner for her to see. Clare went along with it, holding up the other end shakily. Lexa was insisting that Costia’s mom knew she was bisexual, so there was no forced-coming-out problem. Clarke had tried to deter her, saying that there might be other people there, but Lexa told her that Costia’s mom was a senator, and never allowed anyone but Costia and whoever Costia allowed in her office.

Dread rose like bile in her throat the more she climbed the stairs, holding the banner so tightly she thought she might rip it. When they reached the callbox for Costia’s mom’s office, Lexa knocked a few times before entering, a bright smile on her face. Clarke had heard sucking sounds, and reached for Lexa’s shoulder, but the peppy brunette had already entered, eyes smiling more than her mouth.

Costia was inside, lips attached to some short-haired blonde’s neck. Her skirt was ridden up and her hair was mussed… and, Lexa assumed the rest. When Costia had noticed, she proceeded to hold back a chuckle before she explained that what her and Lexa had was simply a few nights of friendly fun and kisses. Sure, she apologized for leading Lexa on. However, when the brunette visibly stoned her features and nodded, throwing her banner of hard work in the trash before running out, Clarke was livid.

(Clarke may or may not have cursed the girl out before running after her co-president.)

However, once Clarke had finished, she noticed that Lexa was gone, having taken her stuff too.

* * *

 

In AP Biology the next day, the only class they shared together, Clarke said, “Hi, Lexa,” and Lexa greeted her with a nod of her head. They didn’t speak any more after that. Clarke didn’t say anything about the other day. Clarke didn’t mention how the girl’s tight braids had returned. She didn’t even ask if the girl was okay.

The next day went similarly, but the day after that was somewhat different.

Pike was rambling about plant cells, or whatever, (it wasn’t like Clarke did anything but look at Lexa during that class.) when the intercom bustled with static over their heads and Kane spoke into it.

“Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin, please find your way to my office. Thank you.” The two shared a long look, eyes wide with confusion. However, when they both realized that it was the first time they’d _really_ looked at each other in months, they turned away with their bottom lips sucked inside their mouths.

Wordlessly, they stood up from their seats and made their way to Kane’s office, ignoring the ‘ooh’s and ‘woah’s of their classmates.

In the hallway, Clarke grabbed the brunette’s forearm, spinning her around.

“Lexa.”

“Clarke?” the brunette asked skeptically, glancing down the hall to where Kane’s office would be.

“Can we talk? Please?” the blonde asked, eyebrows wavering. “I know we’ve never been friends, but, _god,_ you don’t even text me for short little details about the co-presidency anymore. I have to guess what you’re thinking _or_ do it on my own.”

Lexa blinked, obviously not wanting to have this conversation in the hallway. “I’m sorry that I left you guessing.”

“You pushed me away.”

“You were not close enough for me to push you away, Clarke.”

Lexa turned around after that, avoiding Clarke’s gaze while they were inside of Kane’s office. He was talking about prom coming up in a few months, and how they should start soon if they want to get it all done. Clarke wasn’t paying much attention, only staring at Lexa, _praying_ she’d make eye contact just once. (She didn’t think about how she used to wish Lexa would crawl in a hole in die, and now just wanted the girl to communicate with her.)

“Thank you, Mr. Kane.” Lexa dipped her head, and Clarke wondered how she even moved her neck in that suffocating, ironed blouse.

She soon realized that she didn’t know what had happened during that entire meeting, and didn’t know why Lexa was heading to the gym and not back to the Biology classroom. Quickly, she sped up to her side, grabbing the brunette’s arm so she slowed a bit.

“I wasn’t paying attention, what happened in there?”

Lexa snorted lightly, “You’re hopeless.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows to signal her to continue, taking the insult proudly.

“We’re planning prom, remember? We have to come up with a theme by the end of this week, and hopefully have an rough sketch of what it’ll look like.” Clarke could practically see the gears turning in Lexa’s head as she spoke.

“How about _Under The Sea_?”

“Boring.”

“ _A Night Under the Stars_?”

“Cliche.”

“Okay, hear me out—”

“Clarke—”

“Wild Boars. Everywhere..”

“I’m not consulting you for the ideas, Clarke.”

* * *

 

While they’re brainstorming for ideas, Lexa pipes up, “I think we should ask Echo to sketch it out for us. I saw her sketching a face profile in Spanish a couple years back.”

Clarke blinked, “I could do it.”

The brunette’s eyebrows intertwined and she quirks her head to the side, obviously shocked by the new information. Clarke was an _artist_?

“See, Lexie?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“We gotta learn things about each other. What’s your hobby?”

Lexa looked up at Clarke sharply, “Planning this prom. Now _work_.”

* * *

 

“Lexa,” Clarke shook her shoulder, hair messily tied into a blonde bun as they kept trying for prom themes. “I have a good idea.”

“Hm, like the boars?” Lexa scoffed, looking over their current list of ideas. (It was very short.) They were sprawled on the gym floor, dim lighting shining over their heads. Papers and messed up drawings were thrown around them in paper balls and half-assed airplanes, but Lexa had mostly pushed the mess over the Clarke’s side, keeping her own clean.

Clarke pushed her on the shoulder jokingly, but continued with, “Okay, so, basically… It’ll be like a nineties disco.”

Lexa’s eyebrows raised substantially, surprised at the semi-normal theme coming from Clarke. “Okay. I like it so far.”

Clarke pointed near the large double doors of the gym, “Right there will be the entrance. We can cut neon streamers, drape them over the top?”

She then pointed towards the left side of the door, “Right there, we can have a booth for roller skates. Optional, but, _super_ cool.” Clarke wiped invisible dirt off her shoulder, and Lexa snorted.

“We can put foam borders around the center of the gym? So that roller skaters don’t skate too far.”

Lexa blinked and scrunched her nose in confusion, “Where? To the back of the wall?”

Clarke shook her head and placed three fingers under Lexa’s chin, moving her eyesight to where Clarke had been looking. Lexa’s breath hitched, and this time Clarke knew it wasn’t because she hated her presence. Not even looking at where Clarke had pointed to, she turned and faced the blonde fully.

Their faces were centimeters apart, breaths mixing like fire and water vapor between the distance. Lexa almost thought to pull away, but she kept _wondering_ . She kept _thinking_ , what would it be like to kiss Clarke Griffin? (And she wanted to. Really bad.)

(Wait, wha—)

In an second, the jangling bell shook the gym and echoed through the long, vertical poles and tall walls. The two broke apart in rapid succession, grabbing their things and rushing from the door, not bothering to look at each other as they left.

(Clarke told herself that discussing prom made her ultra romantic.)

(Lexa told herself that she was craving human connection since Costia.)

(They were both ultimately wrong.)

* * *

 

The next day, Clarke timidly walked in the gym, with a dark green, tight-fitted shirt and long, black skinny jeans with horizontal holes in the knees. She was worried if Lexa would say anything about the almost-kiss, and what it meant. She wasn’t ready for that conversation, if so. Out of all the things she expected to find in the gym, she _certainly_ did not expect to see the girl unloading boxes full of fairy lights and mini-sculptures.

She approached behind her, scrutinizing the decorations. “That’s not nineties, Lexa.”

Lexa jumped slightly, but covered it up by squaring her shoulders and turning to face the blonde, holding a miniature Eiffel Tower between her hands, fingers lodged in the grid pattern of the sculpture. “We’re not doing the nineties anymore. I decided on Paris-themed.”

Clarke was utterly baffled, and it took her a few minutes to process what was happening before she managed to prevent Lexa from hanging Fairy Lights over the door.

“You didn't even discuss this with me!”

Lexa didn’t answer, so Clarke grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, trying not to marvel at the muscles in the brunette’s shoulder blades. Lexa only glared at her, nostrils flared once again. (Clarke was going to dare this time.)

“You can’t push me out of this! I’m the President too!”

“ _Maybe_ you shouldn’t be.”

Clarke recoiled her head back for a second, venom coiling on her lips, “It’s _not_ my fault that Costia didn’t want you, so _why_ are you taking it out on me?”

The blonde saw it before she compartmentalized it—the flash of hurt and pain inside of Lexa’s irises. She quickly covered it up with stoicism, but Clarke saw the more prominent sheen of her eyes still.

“I’m sorry, Lexa, that was uncalled for.” the blonde tried, weakly, but Lexa stepped back from where they’d been practically chest-to-chest and threw the miniature Eiffel Tower against the wall. It shattered to pieces of grid and plastic, and Lexa stormed from the gym, letting the doors fling behind her.

A sigh broke out of her throat and she slumped against the wall resolutely, wondering how it’d came to this.

(Their almost-kiss was drowned out by the hatred bubbling back to bite them.)

* * *

 

About a week had passed, and Clarke and Lexa had returned to hating each other. There were no tentative or shy moments or almost-kisses anymore, just pure hatred that sizzled like vinegar in a frying pan. They still hadn’t decided fully on the prom theme, and Kane had insisted that they combine their ideas.

So, essentially, it was Paris-themed with roller skates and neon banners. (Lexa hisses in pure contempt whenever she opens her box of fairy lights to find them tangled and knotted between bright yellow streamers, but Clarke finds it hilarious.)

“I hate you.” she reminds Clarke as she hangs the fairy lights over her streamers. Lexa had to change the entire color scheme of her Paris design to fit Clarke’s neon color palette. The soft blues and sunset purples had to turn into cornflower blue and orchid purples, which Lexa _hated_ immensely.

“Thanks for the reminder,” the blonde grunted, struggling to throw her streamer over an imbedded nail on the opposite wall. She was at the top of her tippy-toes, arms stretched to the sky as far as they could go.

She felt a presence behind her, reaching up and over her to hang the streamers. When she turned around in shock, Lexa had scurried to the other side of the gym to hand the fairy lights, so she didn’t say anything.

“The rollerskates came in, by the way. They’re outside.” Lexa reported, cursing herself silently. She had planned to leave them outside and hope they got stolen, just to spite the blonde. However, _something_ had to fill that awkward silence she had just created.

The brunette didn’t have to turn from the wall to see the sparkle in Clarke’s eyes. (Not that she _wanted_ to, it’s just… uh…)

Clarke skipped from the back doors of the gym, propping the door open with her foot as she bent down to pick up the heavy box of rollerskates. Almost immediately, she dropped it back to the sidewalk, chest heaving. She had only gotten it a centimeter off the ground.

“Lexa, could you help me with these?”

No answer. Clarke rolled her eyes and shouted again, “Lexa. For real. I’m not in shape enough.”

The blonde huffed in anger, pulling herself inside the gym, seeing Lexa’s smug expression. It was clear that she _wasn’t_ going to help, no matter how much Clarke pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl turned back to the door and grabbed the lapels of the humongous box, beginning to drag it against the floor. She pulled it over and past the bump in the doorway, her back arched into a flattened U-shape as she yanked.

When she had gotten it into the center of the gym, she noticed Lexa’s eyes glued to her exposed skin, her throat wobbling slightly. Clarke raised both of her eyebrows.

“Did you enjoy that, Lexa?” she teased, sweat dripping down her arms. (She wasn’t in _shape_ , necessarily, but she knew she had a nice one.)

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Lexa scoffed, turning back to her lights as if she hadn’t already re-hung them fifteen times.

Clarke, sensing weakness like the bloodhound she was, moved closer, brushing Lexa’s long braid aside and breathing against the exposed neck, “I think I’ll flatter myself all I want.”

Lexa whirled around, eyes wide and face completely flushed, as if she’d been the one pulling the heavy box instead of Clarke. Her chest was heaving visibly. Slowly, the brunette’s pupils dilated and her nostrils flared. (A dare.)

(Clarke doesn’t turn down dares from Lexa anymore.)

Clarke angled her head to the side, breath coming in short bursts directly on Lexa’s pink-tinged lips. (She was going to kiss Lexa Woods, oh my god.) (Secretly, she was giddy, but she couldn’t explain why.)

“Girls!” a voice came from the hall, and the two broke apart like opposite magnets being pressed together, Lexa backed against the wall and Clarke sprinted back to the boxes of Rollerskates. She ripped her nail into the packing tape at the top to pretend like she had been doing something productive, and Lexa rolled a lightbulb between her thumb and forefinger.

Principal Jaha came strutting in, admiring the half-decorated gym skeptically. However, soon the skepticism turn to joy, and both girls relaxed. He smiled, “This looks nice, girls. A weird combo, but nice.” The girls glared at each other for a second, rivalry coming back full-force. “I just came to let you know that the decoration committee will help you from now on, now that their club has gotten more members.”

Lexa recoiled, “We don’t need help.”

Clarke, however, was grinning as she leaned over to elbow Lexa in the side. “No—I mean, yes. Please. We need all the help we can get.”

Jaha gave the girls two thumbs-ups before turning and leaving through the large double doors, careful not to rattle the fairy lights and streamers over them. When he had left, the sound of his black dress shoes clambering down the halls fading, Lexa spun and glared at Clarke.

“Jesus, _what_ , Lexa? We _need_ help.”

Lexa’s eyes became slits of ice, glaring at the ground like it had punched her, and she mumbled something Clarke didn’t hear.

“What?”

“Costia is on the decoration committee.” (She doesn’t know why she told Clarke, honestly.)

Clarke’s eyes softened, for a second, and Lexa didn’t see because of her staring contest with the smooth wood floors. The gentle shimmer in Clarke’s eyes was quickly hidden with the signature rival glare, and she stomped away from Lexa.

“Get over yourself, Lexa. We need the help.”

Clarke noticed the pained twist of Lexa’s lips as she spat the words, and almost apologized. (But enemies don’t apologize.)

* * *

 

The first thing Clarke noticed about Lexa the next day is that she’s trying _way_ too hard. She’s put her hair in not one tight braid, but two dutch braids that travel down her neck and over her collarbone. (Did Clarke mention that Lexa’s wearing a black off-the-shoulder top? And how it looks _so_ hot?)

(Wait, what?)

Not to mention, those white skinny jeans that Clarke had _never_ imagined Lexa wearing? It’s not even fair. Like, genuinely. Fair is not is Lexa Woods’ vocabulary. (She wasn’t wearing her glasses like she does whenever she’s working on decorations, either. Clarke wanted to shake her by the shoulders and say, “Your glasses _are_ cute! Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!” But like, it’s not like she finds them cute, or anything. She’s just… super invested in self-confidence.) Her co-president kept giving side-glances to Costia like a lost puppy, and Clarke scoffs every time.

Clarke would’ve been perfectly fine as long as Costia stopped leading her on a ten-foot leash. Costia glances back to Lexa occasionally and will wink, or give her a longing smile that Clarke can _tell_ is bullshit. Finn pulled the same crap when he’d strung her along to dating. (But Lexa’s eating it up, all of it.)

“So, Lexie,” she heard Costia’s voice and smelled the nasty perfume (okay, it’s kind of fruity and nice, but that’s _not_ the point.) waft over. “It’d be a shame if you planned this prom and had nobody to go with.”

Clark’s about to laugh because _nobody_ calls Lexa ‘Lexie,’ but the brunette let it happen as she bit her lip. (And, now, instead of laughing, Clarke’s scowling.)

“Is that your way of asking me to Prom?” Lexa asked, and Costia shrugged.

“Possibly.”

Clarke’s raging at this point, her teeth grinding together, so much so that they feel like chalk over her gums. It’s _so_ obvious that Lexa is being led on, _so_ obvious that Costia’s just keeping her along in case shit goes awry.

As the girl left, Clarke stomped up to Lexa and spun her around. (She’s been doing that a lot lately, but at least it gets the brunette’s attention.)

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Lexa brushes off Clarke’s prying fingers from her shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Clarke.”

“She’s stringing you along, Lexa.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I just… I just…”  Lexa waits, and Clarke pushes out a rushed, “She’s just like Finn. Remember? The guy you criticized me for dating?”

Lexa’s nostrils flare, “She is _not_.”

“What do you think _that_ was?” the blonde snarls, shoulders bunched. “‘Oh, _maybe_ , Lexie! _Maybe_ I’ll go with you, if _everyone_ _else_ I fuck says no! Because I just _know_ you’ll wait for me, Lexie! That’s what a good _doggie_ does!’”

The brunette slams her hands into Clarke’s chest, pushing her back a few inches before shouting, “Shut up, Clarke! Shut up!” (But there’s something about the defensive words that Clarke recognizes.)

“You _know_ !” Clarke scoffs in disbelief, blinking rapidly. “You _know_ that she doesn’t like you for more than a fuck and you _still_ allow her to treat you like that.”

“I don’t get why you _care_ ! Why won’t you just leave me to my own devices? Do you even _care_ if I get hurt, or are you doing this just to belittle me?”

By now, the decoration committee and the supervisors have mostly left, as the sun has began to set in the early-fall sky. Clarke and Lexa, however, are used to staying until eight P.M decorating, planning, or just fighting. (Usually fighting to avoid their sexual tension.) (Wait, what?)

“I _care_ ,” the blonde grabs the bands that hold together Lexa’s braids in both hands and yanks them down, causing the ends of her dutch braids to fall out rather messily. The brunette winces, and Clarke runs her fingers through the remaining tresses, loosening them into beach waves. “Because you’re going after people that don’t _respect_ you.”

Finally, the braids are gone and Clarke tears at the sweatshirt that’s around her own waist. It’s Bellamy’s—the one he gave her in the morning because it was too windy to suffer through—but it’ll do. She throws it over Lexa’s head, pulling it until Lexa’s curls pop through the wide collar. It covers her exposed shoulders and arms, all the while Lexa just stands there, too aghast to say anything.

“And for someone with a 4.0 GPA,” Clarke continues, wiping her thumbs over Lexa’s eyelids, which are covered in black eyeshadow. (She doesn’t touch the shining lip gloss on her lips, because that’s a bit too far.) Once most of it has come off on the pads of her thumbs, she turns to Lexa’s backpack that rests against a mural on the wall that they’ll cover with streamers soon. “You don’t seem to understand that.”

“So that’s why,” She tears out Lexa’s thin glasses from the front pocket and pushes them over the brunette’s nose in a fluid, quick motion, watching the girl’s widened pupils expand from the convex lenses. Finally, she steps back to let Lexa comprehend the quick actions. ”I care right now.”

Lexa’s voice is broken when she says, “ _Clarke_.”

(And Clarke can’t handle it. She really can’t.)

(So she leaves. Picks up her bag and scuffles from the gym, leaving Lexa there, utterly befuddled, hair down, and with a gunmetal gray sweatshirt that goes past her waist.)

(Clarke thinks she’s never looked better.)

(And there is no “Wait, what?” because she’s kind-of known all along.)


	2. enemies don't (we can)

“You literally _left_ her there?” Raven asked, popping her bubblegum bubble between her pearl-white teeth. “You basically told her that you liked her with her glasses and sweaters and then you left.”

“I don’t need you to reiterate it.” Clarke said quietly, muffled by the loudspeakers of the party.

Once she’d told her friends about her utter failure on Friday, they’d given her shallow pats on the back and dragged her to one of Octavia’s raging house-parties to improve her sour mood. Raven had tore her away from the beer pong and pool games, wanting to hear the infamous story of how Clarke fucked up nationally. While she loved Raven, she was known for the tough love, telling people to get over it or go after it without any type of consolation. That’s why she was focusing on the rendition of Drake on the speakers, not the condescending bubble-blowing from the other couch.

“Clarke, I think you like her.”

“ _Like her_? I can’t stand her.” Clarke answered back, narrowing her eyes at her ripped cuticles.

“Mm, Clarkey, Finn is here and you haven’t looked at him once.”

“Neither have you,” the blonde protested, trying to defend herself.

“I’ve been over Finn for a year, you’ve been pining for a while.” the tanned-skin brunette replied dryly, no tone of anger or betrayal in her voice like there used to be. When she’d found Clarke on top of Finn in his bedroom freshman year, Raven had shouted and slapped the shit out of Clarke, betrayal soaking her irises.  “Suddenly it stops when you’re all moped over your Co-Student Body President? Yeah.”

The blonde gave a long sigh and leaned into the headrest of the leather chair. “That’s not the same.”

“I heard Lexa’s here.”

Clarke shot up as quickly as humanly possible, pulling the blanket over herself like Lexa was directly in the doorway. “What? _Where_?”

Raven snorted, raising her eyebrows cockily. “Point proven. I was fucking with you.”

“Jesus, shut up, Raven.”

* * *

 

The weekend had ended like it started, with Clarke moping over what happened in the gym and wondering if Lexa would ever forgive her. (Not that she wanted Lexa to—oh, who was she kidding?)

(She _really_ wanted her to.)

She noticed that Bellamy had his signature hoodie back from Friday, which was telling that Lexa had noticed the arial bold font of, “Bellamy,” on the back. (And that meant she looked at it. That meant she _really_ looked at it. Clarke got a burst of happiness just from that.)

She wanted to ask how Lexa acted when she returned it, but she figured that Bellamy would ask too many questions, so she stayed silent.

Her first classes were easy—reviewing for tests, finishing study guides… really, it was all boringly easy. Her second-to-last period, seventh period, AP Biology, was what she was worried about. She didn’t know she was being so obvious about it in sixth period by shaking her leg and drawing black pen circles in her assignment, but apparently she was. Raven whacked her over the head when she stood up to present her speech, and Wells, her tablemate, snorted and covered his face with two hands.

She stopped shaking her leg after that, but anxiety was eating her away, bone-by-bone. It was gnawing at her like raw acid, just _wondering_ how Lexa would look at her. Disgust? Humor? Something in between? (Or maybe she’ll smile that really soft smile that makes Clarke’s heart beat faster—oh, _Jesus_ , she’s so screwed.)

When the bell rang and the kids poured out of the class, Raven linked arms with her and pulled her down the steps, making sure she didn’t skip the _one_ important class of her day. (Not that she had a plan to do that, or anything…)

When Clarke was safely deposited at her seat by the window, right next to Lexa, Raven blew her a teasing kiss and scampered off. (Clarke heard the boisterous laughter of her friends outside the room and almost ran out and punched them.)

(But then there was Lexa, wearing her hair down in those pretty beach waves like Clarke made her on Friday, with a long sweater and loose jean shorts… and Clarke forgot _all_ about her friends.)

“Lexa, I’m really sorry about Fri—”

“Is Bellamy your boyfrien—”

They both blinked at their simultaneous questions, surprised at the composition of both inquiries. Before they could restate or answer either of them, Pike came in with his black shoulder bag and sweat on his neck. He apologized profusely for being late, and Lexa and Clarke knew better than to talk while Pike was talking. (But they _really_ considered it this time.)

* * *

 

After eighth period, Clarke and Lexa met in Kane’s office to relay their progress in Prom-planning. (It was seriously the only day they wouldn’t be alone in the gym, and that truly was _not_ fair.)

“Uhm, we—” Lexa blinked, looking back down the hallway where the gym was, like she would rather be there, too. “We’ve hung the lights and streamers already. We got all the roller skates, but we haven’t set up the booth yet.”

Clarke was about to add on, but Kane shot in, “Don’t worry about the booth, girls, that’s more of an adult job. You know, heavy wood and all.”

Lexa blinked and crushed her jaw together, which Kane didn’t seem to notice. (Clarke did. She always did.)

“Uhm, okay. Also, we need to set up the foam walls still so the skaters aren’t everywhere. I was also thinking about adding a rule, like, roller skates are only allowed in the rink. That’ll keep people who don’t want to skate away from the people who do.”

“Yeah, also,” Lexa jumped in, and Clarke was surprised to see her participating in something that _wasn’t_ her Paris theme. “The skaters should skate in one direction, in a circle all of the time. Still fun, and less messy. We can have times where they switch directions, too.”

Clarke nodded approvingly, and Kane agreed, trying to think of something else to ask. He was the devil’s advocate, always arguing for things or people that nobody ever fought for. It kept students on their toes, even if it was annoying as hell.

When he couldn’t think of anything, he shooed them off—not to go to the gym, but home. Apparently, the adults would finish up what was left of the prom. Clarke could tell that Lexa was about to _burst_ , with how tight her fists were clenched and how strong her jaw clench was, so she swept the girl away by her shoulders and out of the office.

When the door shut behind them and Lexa’s jaw clench had got substantially less rough, Clarke leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “Bellamy, huh?”

(She’d been waiting for the dramatic asking since the beginning of seventh period, and it was _not_ slipping away from her now.)

“ _Sorry_ , huh?” the brunette rasped, shivering under the whisper in her ear. Clarke pulled away and maneuvered around Lexa so they faced each other, ready for their ultimate “talk.”

“Well, no, he’s not my boyfriend,” Clarke didn’t miss the way the wrinkles in Lexa’s forehead softened to smooth skin, but she didn’t say anything about it, either. “And I am sorry. We were fighting and I just… that whole thing was so stupid, Lexa—”

Lexa blinked four times, in a row, before grabbing Clarke cheeks between her palms, jaw gaped. “Clarke, that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Please don’t say it was stupid.”

(And _dammit_ , Clarke softens.)

“And you shouldn’t be sorry, Clarke, I should.”

(And then Clarke un-softens.)

“Woah—what? Sorry for _what_ ?” the blonde demands. (And even though she’s shorter than Lexa, she _knows_ she’s intimidating.)

“I… I lashed out at you for what Costia did… and then continued doing it even when you were just trying to help.” Lexa admitted, dropping her hands from Clarke’s face. (Both of them would be lying if they said they didn’t miss it.)

“I was an ass in any case, Lexa. I know what it’s like to like someone like that… you just want to be with them, and that’s not your fault,” she sighed, running a hand over her face. “But… really… um…”

 _Just say it, Clarke. Say she’s pretty without her braids and adorable with her reading glasses. Just_ say _it, Clarke._

“You’re you.”

_Jesus christ._

Lexa smiled softly, extending her hand. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

(But, really, that wasn’t enough for either of them.)

* * *

 

**Clarke [6:00 P.M.] Lexa**

**Lexa [6:05 P.M.] Clarke**

**Clarke [6:06 P.M.] u know wht friendship entails?**

**Lexa [6:07 P.M.] What would that be?**

**Clarke [6:12 P.M.] movie night!!!!**

**Lexa [6:12 P.M.] That’s… no**

**Clarke [6:12 P.M.] :((((((((( don’t make me do it**

**Lexa [6:13 P.M.] Do what?**

**Clarke [6:14 P.M.] I’LL DO IT, LEXA**

**Lexa [6:15 P.M.] ????????**

**Clarke [6:16 P.M.] ill pout**

**[attachment of Clarke pouting]**

**Lexa [6:17 P.M.] Oh, god, not the pout.**

**Clarke [6:20 P.M.] ik ik it’s my most powerful weapon**

**is it working?**

**Lexa [6:23 P.M.] … Fine. But it *wasn’t* the pout!**

**Clarke [6:23 P.M.] of course, commander lexa**

 

So, yes, Lexa ended up at Clarke’s house, watching _The Little Mermaid_ on the DVR while a bowl of cashews sat between them, mostly untouched.

(“I don’t even like cashews, Clarke.”

“Neither do I.”  
“Then why—”

“Because there has to be something there or I’ll end up holding your hand!”)

(Lexa fought back a, “Just hold it, then!” with every last ounce of her strength.)

While the movie played, Lexa couldn’t help but look past the bowl between them and to Clarke’s enthralled face. How she got so invested in a children’s movie, Lexa would never understand. (The LED colors lighting up Clarke’s golden hair and eyebrows was more interesting than a movie could _ever_ be, honestly.)

Eventually, Lexa pushed the bowl off the two seated couch and simply grabbed Clarke’s hand. She didn’t say anything after that. Neither did Clarke. (And neither of them payed attention to the movie afterwards.)

* * *

 

“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa asked, her feet kicked up over one side of the couch, torso twisted so that it faced the T.V. “Would you go to prom with me?”

Clarke spat out the cashew she’d tentatively tried during the movie. Lexa put her legs down quickly, turning to Clarke in worry that she was choking.

“Jesus, give me a heart attack, I guess,” Clarke replied, specifically avoiding the question. (She’d love it. She’d adore going to prom with Lexa, taking her hand and spinning her on the dance floor. Well, as much as roller skates would allow.)

“I just…” Lexa’s cheeks turned red, and Clarke _thought_ she was confessing. (Why did she think that? She’s kind of stupid, that’s why.) “Costia’ll be there.”

Just like that, Clarke’s dreams were shattered under the perfect heel of Lexa Woods. (Was i the first time? No.) “Oh.”

“Yeah… I just… I want her to know that I didn’t come alone because she somewhat asked me. Like, that I’m not a _loser_.”

Clarke scooched to her knees, facing Lexa fully. She grabbed the brunette’s face in her hands, eyes wide, “You’re _not_ a loser. And yes, I’ll go to _our_ prom with you.”

Something about “our prom” made Lexa’s stomach flutter, but she didn’t say anything. (Honestly, she should really break that habit.)

* * *

 

“White, purple, _blue_ ! What is _so hard_ about white, purple, blue?” Lexa shouted at the teachers who had finished their prom designing. They’d messed up the colors, apparently, something like forgetting white and using pastels instead of the neons that covered the gym and floors.

(Clarke _honestly_ couldn’t tell the difference, and she was assuming that neither could the teachers or student who would be coming to prom drunk or on the verge of it.)

“Lex, chill.” Clarke quieted her down, shooting the teachers an apologetic glance as she rubbed the girl’s shoulders back and forth. “I can’t tell the difference.”

Lexa whimpered and leaned into the touch, glaring at the discolored decorations. “But _Clarke_ …”

“We _could_ re-do them, _or_ we could celebrate getting all this done a day before Prom.” Clarke said, letting Lexa think about the ultimatum for a bit.

The brunette thought for awhile before sighing, eye closed, “Fine. But I swear to God, if _any_ student mentions how the colors are mismatched, I will _not_ let this go.”

“Ok _ay_ , Commander.”

* * *

 

Clarke tied and re-tied the straps of her heels, a sigh lodged heavily in her throat. It wasn’t like she _couldn’t_ go to prom. She promised Lexa, and she _also_ designed it. She was probably going to be brought on stage, if she knew Kane at all. Also, she wanted to see what all of that planning had accounted to—what it looked like with the lights dimmed and music bumping over the PA system. (She wondered what Lexa looked like, surrounded by her fairy lights and hard work, too.)

Her dress was white at the top with a ruffled blue skirt, separated by a black belt around her waist, one that tightly clung to her hips. Her heels were all white with pretty black laces, which didn’t really match, but it was the best she had that fit with her dress. It was simple, not too glamorous, something she’d wear to homecoming. (The fact that she didn’t have any nineties dresses or dresses that allowed her to roller skate like a disco-diva was quite upsetting.)

She didn’t have time to dwell, because three quick knocks on her front door disrupted her thoughts. She’d dreamed about prom all her life—when she’d watch Disney Channel and see those romantic prom episodes where the main love interest and the main character fell in love. She didn’t expect that when it happened, she’d be going with _Lexa Woods_ , whom she hated with most of her being. (Well, used to hate. Now she just wanted to slam the girl against the beam on her porch and kiss her until—oh yikes.)

Marching up to the door from her spot on the couch, she got ready to face the night, accept the thanks from the school department, then finally go home to throw off her heels and eat pizza on her bed. (Of course, that all fell out of the window when she opened the door and saw Lexa.)

Her hair was tied in a pretty french braid, resting over her left shoulder, and she had a pure-black dress, slightly ruffled at the end with a slit down the right leg. Thin, flat straps rolled over the girl’s shoulders, and the neckline rolled into a semi-circle by her chest. Her make-up was simple, noticeable but not over-the-top. (And, _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._ ) The shiny lip-gloss on the girl’s lips just made Clarke want to kiss her even _more_ than usual. (Wait, wh—)

“Could you wait ‘till after the dance to take out my braid this time?” Lexa asked jokingly, fiddling with the end of said braid.

Clarke _literally_ couldn’t answer. Her mouth was still, and her tongue wouldn’t even flick to start a sentence or sound. All she could do was stare—and she realized how that must’ve made Lexa feel.

“Clarke.” Lexa reiterated, placing her palm under Clarke’s chin and directing the blue orbs to her face. (She regretted it when their eyes met, because now _Lexa_ was staring.)

“I wish I dressed better, is all,” Clarke gulped, pulling away from the sharp gaze and move to stand next to Lexa. “Costia’s gonna _die_.”

(And Lexa realized that she wasn’t trying to impress Costia, this time.)

* * *

 

“No, no! Don’t pull on the streamers—please _don’t_ sit on the eiffel tower!” Lexa was frantic, pulling stragglers of Prom off of her decorations and designs with fear in her eyes. It was like a mother dragging a boyfriend off of her ten year old daughter, with the pure panic in her eyes.

“Lex, _chill_ ,” Clarke snorted, just like she’d done when Lexa was obsessed over the minor color change from the teachers. “You’re never gonna have any fun if you’re crying over the deco.”

Clarke, holding her roller skates in one hand and a drink in the other, gestured to the rink, “Let’s skate?”

Lexa gulped and shook her head. “You can go, Clarke… I’ll watch.”

Clarke’s mouth curled into a grin, “You sound like my mother. C’mon, it’s fun. They’re playing all the songs we suggested.”

The brunette simply shrugged, taking Clarke’s drink and placing it on a nearby food table, next to the opened bag of cheetos. “It’s okay.”

(Clarke got it.)

“Oh my god. You can’t skate, can you?”

“Clarke—”

“This is amazing, Lexa. Oh my god.”

Seeing Lexa’s pout, Clarke grabbed the girl’s hands and began to pull her to the rollerskates booth. “I’ll teach you! And you’ve _gotta_ let me now.”

“Why do you think I wanted to change the theme so badly? I went home, tried to skate with my cousin’s skates and fell on my ass.” Lexa revealed, blushing down her neck as she did. Clarke, who _obviously_ noticed, just grinned wider and got her a pair of skates.

* * *

 

“I’m gonna fall—Clarke!” Lexa shouted, her knees buckling like a newborn colt’s as she struggled to keep her legs from collapsing on themselves. Luckily, Clarke spun on her back wheels and caught the girl in her arms. Their chests pressed together as Clarke slowly boosted Lexa up, skating backwards as she did so.

“It’s okay. It’s like walking but _super extra_.” Clarke soothed, slowly sliding her arms from under Lexa’s armpits, but Lexa quickly surged forward, basically hugging her for support. “You know how Kacy Gardener walks down West Hall?”

Lexa chortled and nodded.

‘“Walk like that. _Super_ extra. Don’t fight the sliding, just let it happen. Don’t take your feet more than a centimeter or two off the ground, unless you’re pushing off really fast.”

Lexa reluctantly let her death hold on Clarke go, looking down at her feet and pressing her tongue between her teeth as she tried to “extra walk.” She lifted up her right foot—her dominant foot—and pushed off as kindly as she could, beginning to scamper and slide across the rink.

“Look at you!” Clarke cooed. “You’re doing it.”

Just like that, Lexa’s left foot turned fully on its side, knocking her off balance and sending her crashing down to the floor. Clarke gasped out, reaching over and grasping at the girl’s shoulders to try and help her up.

“Are you okay? Lexa! Lexa?” she questions, allowing Lexa to grasp at her forearms and haul her way up, climbing Clarke like a jungle gym to stand up straight. Her feet wobbled some more, but steadying herself on Clarke made it easier. (Clarke _really_ ignored how the accidental grasp on her hip made her feel.)

“I-I’m okay… I just… I thought I’d learn it by now.” Lexa was obviously disappointed in herself, used to learning things like math and science quite quick.

Clarke smiled and linked arms with her, hoping that this would be a better way to help the brunette from falling. She leaned into Lexa’s side and whispered in her ear, over the loud music, “I used to roller skate with my dad all the time. When I first started, I crashed into the floor so many times I had to go to the doctor.”

Lexa looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, “But you’re so good at skating?”

“It took me three days of nonstop skating to not fall. Days of bruises and cuts amounted to this. It’s totally okay if you don’t get it right away. I cried a lot in the beginning, too.”

The brunette frowned at the idea of Clarke getting hurt and crying, _and_ the thought of having to do this for days before learning how to do it properly. Both _sucked_ , and she groaned in frustration. Clarke only laughed and demonstrated how to kick her feet again.

* * *

 

“Okay, skaters, it’s time to announce our prom _king and queen_!” the crowd burst into cheers, pausing their circular skating to look up at the makeshift stage on the other side of the rink. “But, before that, we need to give a shout out to the two who made this prom possible—Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods, your student body presidents!

There were a few wolf-whistles and screams, mostly from Clarke’s friend group, but mostly positive or polite claps. They were ushered on stage by Kane, (Clarke called it!) and Clarke had to hold Lexa’s hand the whole way. (Even if Lexa had mostly learned how to get around in her skates, neither of them rejected the touch.)

“And your king is…”

The two had mostly stopped listening at that point, too busy being ushered off of the stage and into the food court area, their skates still on. (They were technically breaking the rules, sure, but they designed the whole Prom, dammit.)

After awhile of watching the Prom Royalty be chosen, Clarke noticed the brunette eyeing the exit of the gym shakily. The King and Queen did their own little couple’s skate around the rink, the crowd cheering and whistling, meanwhile. It was Bellamy and Costia, but Lexa didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it. (And that made Clarke _so_ happy.)

“What?” the blonde questioned, eyebrows raised.

With her cheeks flushed pink, Lexa mumbled, “Could you… um… come to the bathroom with me? I don’t want to fall.”

(Neither of them mentioned how Lexa could simply take off her skates if she really wanted to not fall.)

* * *

 

“Did you see the way everyone was so confused when we went up there holding hands? Oh my god.” Clarke snorted, leaning against the wall of the bathroom.

“A classic,” Lexa said, struggling to wash her hands and hold herself upright at the same time. “I mean—ugh—the kid in the—hmph—front…”

“Are you having issues?” the blonde asked, rolling lightly over to the girl to steady her waist, allowing her to wash her hands properly.

The brunette’s neck turned red, along with her face, and she shook her head lightly. She washed her hands and sung her ABCs in her head, just to make sure Clarke would hold her waist for as long as normally possible. (Which Clarke had _no_ problem doing, to be completely honest.)

“You didn’t seem bothered by Costia winning Prom Queen,” it came out before she could stop it, and Lexa stiffened under the pliable grasp at her waist.

“Yeah.”

“Is there a reason?”

“I didn’t really come for Costia, Clarke.” she answers, and it’s so soft spoken that Clarke almost forgets to analyze it.

(And then she does.)

Their lips are together in a second, and their hands are gasping at every place that they couldn’t touch as enemies or friends. Clarke’s hands are woven into Lexa’s braid, messing it up substantially and Lexa’s hands are tugging at Clarke’s waist, pulling her flush against her hips. The blonde whines into Lexa’s lips, feeling the brunette’s fingertips dig into the dip at her waist like her life depends on it.

They part for a second to catch their breaths and dive _right_ back in like a kid at the YMCA. Mouths slanting against each other and stomachs swooping with black-eyed butterflies, they kiss like enemies could _never_. When Clarke pulls Lexa closer and smashes their chests together, Lexa leans closer on her toes.

Then her knees buckle.

And then she’s on the bathroom floor, staring down at her roller skates like they’re the spawn of satan.

Clarke leaned over her, “Should’ve gone with the _boar_ theme.”

 

 

> {fin}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all folks!! once again this was mostly something i did to blow off steam so i'm super sorry that nothing is too developed or built up other than clexa... it's also my first time writing hate to love so it might not be that great  
> anyways! thanks for reading? yikes end notes

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this mess honestly? i'm probably going to add a part two soon, no idea when that'll be  
> (if i made any mistakes, please tell me!! i don't catch myself too often so it's super helpful when someone else does)  
> (i also know i changed tenses in the last part but rhgh i have a problem with writing important scenes and not making them present tense)


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